


It's Alright

by DiscordsMuse



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Cooking, Escape au, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Height Differences, I just want them to be happy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, cute shit, vignettes of their life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscordsMuse/pseuds/DiscordsMuse
Summary: No one really expected to make it out of the realm that held them captive.Now they pick up the pieces.Parts of the lives they live, in no particular order.Tumblr is @discordsmuse
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Meg Thomas, Herman Carter | The Doctor/Quentin Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	1. Nightmares

Meg Thomas has nightmares often, and in them she runs. Monsters with glowing eyes chase her through trees and the rotting corpses of buildings; her breath beats at her lungs and burns her throat. She never seems to be able to outrun them, and the whistling of a hatchet sounds in her ears or searing sting of electricity dances up her calves. She jolts back to life, or just awake, covered in a cold sweat and fingers digging into the sheets. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, and for a moment she forgets she is free and the shadows of their apartment look too similar to the manor. She needs to go.

Running takes effort now. A conscious focus on the world around her and the steadily rising sun that reminds her she is no longer a prisoner. Her runs are no longer for her life, she doesn’t rely on her speed to survive. It is only a run down the paved street, past apartments where she can see people through windows beginning their day. There is a beautiful innocence in the simplicity of it, how people go about their mornings. Mothers making breakfasts for children that have yet to wake, a man seated before a window sipping coffee from a mug. Some hurry to cars while older folk tend to gardens and touch up old paint. Others run with her, leading dogs down the cracked sidewalk of the neighborhood. She’d forgotten how peaceful the world really was, the gentle birdsong on a morning breeze accompanied by the scent of tea or pancakes. This was real.

The cool morning air is growing warm by the time she returns to the apartment complex, drenched in the sweat of exercise rather than old ghosts. Her blue eyes seek out their windows on habit, noticing a light on. She took the steps in twos, not yet out of breath by the time she reached the top floor and pressed the key into the lock. Their door enters into the kitchen, and she meets the soft eyes of her lover where he is seated at the counter. Evan has his own scars from the Entity, and not just the physical ones it left on his body. She can kiss the marred skin where doctors pulled shrapnel from his muscle, assuring him that the metal they had to leave doesn’t make him any less of a man. The mental scars are what they struggle with.

Evan Macmillan fears the water; he wakes up gasping for air and clawing at nothing. Meg knows a different kind of monster haunts his dreams and she knows its face. Hard, dark eyes, a scowl on thin lips; Archie who was more a monster than many of the killers she faces in her sleep. Her lover doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t want to, and she knows it hurts him. He’s kept in contact with the other killers, though in reality they’re all survivors now. They speak of things she doesn’t understand, the pain and punishment the Entity provided when trials were failed and the fear of returning to the world they’d been taken from. Evan, powerful and strong as he is, is putty under the harsh words of his father and Meg hears Archie rather than Evan sometimes when he speaks.

Two mugs of the coffee that neither of them particularly enjoy sit before him on the counter. His is black, and hers is the creamy chestnut color from added milk. He’d lost none of his height when they escaped, and even seated he towered over her. Meg scooted her stool closer, pulling his arm over her shoulder and letting the warmth abate their apartment’s freezing AC. Sweaty or no, he didn’t mind, after all they’d lived in a relative state of grit and grime for years. Her eyes returned to him, and she remembered some more than others. His fingers curled around the soft red wisps of her ponytail, careful not to pull.

“Dreams?” He finally spoke, the beautiful growl of his voice rumbled in his chest, and she let her head lean back against him with an affirmative response. He frowned, smoothing course fingertips over her skin and she could see the concern in his green-gold eyes. Evan worried enough for both of them, and she wished she could find a way to assuage his fear. She looped under his arm to stand, taking his face in her hands. Her thumb traced the scar that started at his eye and ended below his full lips, relishing in the way he looked at her like she was the world.

“I’m going to call Quentin later. I haven’t spoken to the others in awhile.”

“Probably a good idea. I have a job interview, actually.”

“At the construction site?” He nodded, and Meg pulled away to sip at her coffee. “You’ll do great.”

“I owe you for helping me make the application.” Meg laughed, assured him he’d be great and neither of them brought up the dreams again. They’d have to at some point, but it wasn’t today.


	2. To Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her best friend isn't the same anymore.

It was always the worst when it was foggy. Neither Meg nor her friends trusted the swirling mist, and they definitely didn’t like to leave their homes when it manifested. Well, everyone except for Quentin. The dreamwalker took to the mist, walking through forests and fields in the search for the Entity. He desired, more than anything, to return. He’d left behind the man he loved, and even while living with Claudette he struggled to truly be at peace.

Meg ventured into the darkness in search of him, driving the couple hours into the woods and coaxing him back with her. His eyes were emptier than they’d been when he couldn’t rest; a hollow grey-blue that looked through her rather than at her. He was still her friend, holding her pale, freckled hand as they walked through the foggy trees back to her old Toyota. She could feel the damp cold in her bones as she slid into the cracked leather seats and closed the door. Quentin joined her, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his tired eyes.

“You scared Claudette,” Meg started the car, keychain jingling as the tiny bear trap charm clinked against the dash. Quentin didn’t respond, and the car grumbled to life. Headlights bit through the fog, and blue eyes focused on the road ahead. “She cares about you.”

“I know.” The quiet voice penetrated the car’s rumble, and she glanced to look at Quentin’s eyes that had remained shut. One of his hands held gently to the pendant, thumb smoothing over its surface. Meg knew that necklace; she’d carried it through the Entity’s ever-changing woods and to the darkened hospital. Electricity danced down her arms when the man took the cord from her hands, and she’d looked into wounded, white eyes as he held it to disfigured lips. The man was silent, he’d been angry then. Meg had to check on him, returning with old coffee grounds from the storehouse and braving violent shocks to ensure he didn’t tear the realm apart.

“You miss him, I know. He’d want you to-”

“If you’re going to say he’d want me to be happy, don’t bother.” His tone had shifted to a snap, and Meg knew she’d fucked it up.

“Like he’d want you to go back? You know he only stayed because he’d-”

“He’d die if he left. I know.” He was looking at her now, accusation twisting his face. “I know his body would break. I know a person can’t survive what the Entity did to him. Wires instead of veins, body too hot to sustain liquid, I know, Meg.” His voice broke a little, hand holding his necklace tighter. 

She wasn’t sure how to respond, platitudes wouldn’t do any good. They were survivors of an old god, a monster that preyed on the weak and wounded; it twisted and morphed its playthings to its will and then the bitch didn’t even have the courtesy to let them out the way they’d entered. Meg bore scars from hatchet and butterfly knife, as did Quentin. They’d faced the Nightmare and the Wraith, taking hits from people they called friends outside the trial. Many of the killers remained, Anna staying to hunt for eternity, while others knew they’d crumble to dust. Some wanted that. Rin and Sally had been given burials, and she was pretty sure even Nea attended the funerals.

“But he wanted you to live. You’re throwing away the life he wanted to give you.” She finally said the only thing that felt right.

“I wouldn’t have left, if he’d given me a choice. I know you’d miss me. I know Claudette and Susie and Philip and everyone would want me here. I just wish for once I had control of my life.” Quentin sighed. “I was hounded by Freddy, forced into trials, and when I finally get something worth really living for, I’m forced away from it again.”

“We’ll figure out a way to get all of them.” Meg replied, hands gripped to the wheel. “We’ll get Herman, and Lisa, and-”

“Not  _ all _ of them.”

“Yeah, not all of them. Just the ones that count.”

The rest of the car ride was silent, and when Meg watched Quentin disappear back through the door of his and Claudette’s apartment she had to take a minute. Her eyes shut tight, blue eyes filling with stupid, hot tears and Meg cried. Her memories of the lost came rushing back in a tearful torrent. Herman’s gift of hairties, the chuckles over coffee and watching Quentin and Herman dance together as Evan played piano. She remembered their long conversations, his crackling voice in her head pushing her to be better and encouraging her. Many survivors said Herman was beyond redemption. Perhaps he was. She was sure the hundreds he tested on would think so. 

Meg knew, even after all he’d done, she missed him too.


End file.
